A Need to Feel the Thunder
by Wide-Eyed For Pontmercy
Summary: Cosette views the world through innocent eyes. Yet just as she grows and changes, her perceptions of life do as well. Let this, her diary, unveil the girl who finds herself through the struggles of revolution and love.
1. Walks in the Park

**Sometimes, there exists a love so powerful, it can't be comprehended. It has no logic or explanation. A love that defies the commonplace emotion, one that creates the rules instead of merely following them. In my life, I've seen that sort of love. And I've experienced it.**

Dusk, November 9, 1830.

Where do I begin? My name is Cosette. An unusual name, I've been told. I recently turned seventeen years old. I don't feel any different, to be honest. Nothing in my life changes, and I suppose that doesn't bother me. I have Papa for company. He is always there, my dearest friend and most devoted mentor. I feel as if I don't need anyone else since I have such an exceptional father. We go on weekly walks together, with our arms linked...

I sometimes imagine that if my arm wasn't tucked into his, I would float away. Strange fancies for a young girl like me, any yet I still feel that way nonetheless. Our walks go through a simple park, and we always stop and sit at the same stone bench. I love that bench. Once we sit, Papa lets me go. He sometimes reads a book, but I always look. I look at the sky, which is usually overcast, or at the other people walking about. The park is quite small, and if I squint, I can see past the manicured bushes and little trees to the town beyond. Sometimes during our walks, I will stop and pick some flowers, and when we reach the bench, I make necklaces with them. I leave the flower jewelry on the bench when we return home, and the next time we go walking, the necklaces are gone. Just the wind, I suppose.

I feel that diary writing is not for me. I have nothing thrilling to record, and my thoughts must be rather dull. I know I'm quite sheltered, but I am alright with that. A homely girl like me has no need for scandalous outings and a herd of suitors. All I need is my Papa, our walks, and my garden.

I don't think there is a more glorious place then my little garden. I'm not sure why, but the memories of my early childhood are hazy at best. The one thing I can remember most clearly is a fantasy about a place I called "The Castle on a Cloud."

The Castle was large and spacy, and had light gray stone walls with flowers creeping over them. My garden walls are just like that. In fact, my entire garden is like my former fantasy. The garden is circular shaped, with a small fountain in the exact center. There are curving benches along some of the walls, and lush flowers grow everywhere.

I feel that my life is made up of walks to the park and sitting on benches. When I leave my home, I go merely to sit on a bench. When I return home, I go immediately to the garden to sit. I'm in the garden right now. Dear Papa will probably come to fetch me inside soon. The sky is darkening, and the air has a chill. The lightest mist of a rain is falling. It is such a soft rain that the pages in this diary are not even affected. I raise my face to the sky. What a soft caress.

"Cosette! Come inside, darling!" Papa calls from the safety of the house. Regretfully I must rise and leave my garden. It is a nice house, truly, but I feel most at home outside. My skirts seem to grow heavier as I rise and walk away. Once I'm indoors, I feel rotten for wishing to stay outside. Papa positively beams at me and engages me in conversation. Dear Papa. His thick hair and beard are graying, and there are lines around his ancient brown eyes. Papa is a very large man, and still strong in his old age. He reminds me of a stag- a huge, noble and comforting presence.

"Cosette, what are you writing away at?" Papa asks inquisitively. I remember when he taught me to read. We were living in a different house then.

"Just my thoughts, Papa. Do you remember giving me this book?" I say. My voice is so high. It seems to grow higher and more feminine by the day, which is rather infuriating. Just a year ago, I could be taken for a boy, I was so homely and boyish. I am still a plain girl, but now I'm equipped with a keening voice to specify my gender.

"Of course I remember giving you that book." Papa says merrily. We talk for a bit more, then he turns to the fireplace and watches the flames while I continue to write. Our silence is comfortable. I pause to look out the window. The sky has darkened, I can barely see out the dim glass. There are a few murky shapes walking along the street. I'm sure they can see Papa and I inside the parlor, since our fireplace and candles illuminate the interior but make the outside world seem darker....Papa is calling at me to play chess. I suppose we'll meet again, dairy.

November 11, 1830

Papa and I just returned home from our walk to the park. I saw some girls there. I've seen them before, very pretty in their matching dresses. They laugh and walk about with linked arms, with their chaperons trailing behind with worried expressions. I wish I had a friend so that I might experience a merry stroll through the gardens. Yes, yes, I love Papa. But our walks have grown sober...

November 14, 1830

I've experienced a queer sensation around my bosom lately. I can't say that it's entirely pleasant. I've got small breasts, but they seem to be growing. At last, maybe my figure shall look like a woman's. I will face these inevitable changes without fear.

November 18, 1830

An odd thing happened today. Papa and I were walking through the street, on our way home. A man ran right by us, shouting and flailing. Naturally, I was curious, so I asked Papa, but he refused to tell me what was happening. He insisted we continue walking. This always happens. Whenever an ounce of excitement appears, Papa immediately leads me home. He says it is safest there. But what have we to fear? We are Parisians, we live in the city and should embrace the excitement like a brother. I told dear Papa that very thing, but he laughed. I wasn't hurt, I didn't mean it too seriously. And yet, I still wonder. I am seventeen years old, nearly fully grown, and yet my Papa still treats me like a small child. I imagine other girls my age have been introduced and courted by boys already. I know nothing about boys, or even girls, really. The information I've gathered just comes from observing others at the park. No one notices me there. I can watch at leisure without ever having to worry about being spotted, its as if I'm invisible. So I suppose there are benefits to being ugly......

I think I shall go sing a song. I've learned that there are a few benefits to my newly developed high voice. I can sing a multitude of new songs now. Papa says I have a pure and lovely soprano voice. But then again; he always says I'm pretty too.

November 23, 1830.

I saw an interesting man at the park today. Papa was immersed in his book, so he didn't notice I was captivated. He was a young man, not handsome in any way, yet still striking. He had brown hair that was neither curly nor straight, and black eyes that were piercing even at the distance with which I glimpsed them. His clothing was plain, but well made. On his arm was a giggling girl with beautiful gold hair. Her dress was silky and low cut, with her breasts nearly spilling out. I was mildly scandalized at the time. He and the girl walked around the park in circles. She would chatter on, and he appeared to quite obviously ignore her.

Once the girl daintily stopped her foot and cried, "Grantaire, are you even listening?" So I learned his name.

He replied, "You know that I'm not." The girl seemed to evaluate his words, then continued on with her endless chatter. Frequently, he would pull a brown bottle out from his jacket and take longs pulls, seeming to enjoy the beverage very much. Every now and then, he would make offhand comments at the girl, and then she would give him a puzzled look before continuing to talk again. I watched them till Papa pulled me home.

I wish I could talk to Grantaire, and hear the words that so confused the beautiful blond girl. Maybe I could could understand him...Nah, I'd probably just simper about myself just like the girl. I've never really conversed with just a man. I've talked to delivery boys plenty of times, but never have I made a male acquaintance.

November 25, 1830

I learned to sing a new song today. It's called, "Amarilli, Mia Bella." I can even play the accompaniment on the little piano Papa got me for my sixteenth birthday. I love singing, especially in my garden. There I don't an accompaniment, the sound of the leaves rustling through the trees provides a perfect melody. Perhaps I shall write my own song one day, if the right words come to me.

November 28, 2830

No walk today. I'm usually exceedingly fond of the rain, but I fear I've grown sick of it. I haven't been able to leave the house all day. Even indoors, the air just seems damp and dull. Papa has been napping. Its too cold to be outside, but too warm to snow.....What boredom!

November 30, 1830

At last the rain has ceased! Papa says I must dawn many layers before I can go outside. Even bundled up past recognition, I feel that a breath of fresh air will do us both some good.

December 2, 1830

I saw Grantaire at the park again today. He was with another beautiful girl and had another bottle in his hand. He stumbled when he walked, yet still seemed to be regal. I wish I could talk to him.

December 6, 1830

I stitched a pattern a lovely pillow for Papa today. I also painted a small landscape on a canvas.

December 15, 1830

I did it! When Papa and I went out for our walk today, I brought a book with me. It was a very windy day. When we sat down on the bench, my book got carried away in the wind. Papa went off to retrieve it. Grantaire happened to be strolling by right then, a brunette girl hanging off his arm.

He saw Papa run off, then said to me, "Sending your father off on an errand?" His voice was very smooth. The brunette giggled. I looked to the ground. All of this planning to talk to him, and I had not a word to say!

I blurted out, "What is in the bottle that you carry?" After I said that, I could feel my face burn with shame. He instead laughed and said, "What's in your head?" That puzzled me.

Then I replied, "Why, thoughts are in my head! But thoughts aren't in that bottle." He laughed again. The girl on his arm seemed annoyed, as she was no longer merrily laughing.

"What's your name?" Grantaire asked, boldly taking another long chug out of his bottle.

"Cosette. What's your name?" I asked, to be polite.

"My name's Grantaire.. Want to taste?" he said, gesturing to his bottle. He completely ignored the girl on his arm, so I never learned her name. I felt my time with Grantaire was growing short, so ignoring my better judgment, I quickly nodded my head. He smirked and passed me the bottle. It was cool against my gloved hands. The bottle was dark, so I could not see the liquid inside. I tightly shut my eyes and dark. My throat was on fire! I coughed and spluttered. My whole body burned, and tears came to my eyes at the effort of trying to catch my breath. Grantaire and the girl laughed, though his laugh didn't seem as cruel as hers.

When I could finally speak again, I gasped out, "What spirit is that?!"

"Just brandy. Is your throat nicely burned or do you care for more?" he said coolly, and took a long drink. I was torn. I wanted to accept his challenge, but I did not wish to torch my throat again. Slowly, I reached for the bottle from his ungloved hands. I took a tiny sip and passed it back to him. That time, I didn't hurt my mouth and the spirit gave my body a pleasant warmth. Grantaire smiled and drank. He offered the bottle to his girl, but she daintily turned her face away. Over their shoulders, I saw Papa's large frame begin to approach. I grew nervous.

"I've got girls waiting to be seduced. Perhaps we'll meet again." Grantaire said as he turned to leave. I began to breath again. The girl on his arm playfully smacked him and hissed, "Am I not enough?"

I heard him say, "Not for a Don Juan like me." They walked away. Papa sat down on the bench, breathing heavily. He handed the book to me.

"Thank you, Papa!" I cried, and hugged him.

"You would not believe what I had to do to get this book, Cosette. I swear it must have blown throughout Paris before letting me catch it." he said, his breathing slowly returning to normal. He turned to me. "Why, your quite flushed! Is this air too chilly for you? Perhaps we should return home."

I realized that the brandy had given me some color. I nervously clutched the book to my chest. I began to feel horrible at making Papa fetch it. I still feel awful about it, even now. I'm a wicked girl.

After that, I let Papa take me back home. I spent the rest of the day with him, trying to be the most attentive and good daughter I could be. He seemed pleased to have me by his side for hours on end.

I've just retired to my bedroom, so I could write this down. I have never been more daring in my life, I think. Tomorrow, I shall continue to make up for my sly behavior..............And yet, I long to do something exciting like that again....Soon.


	2. Changes

**A/N - **Thanks to my reviewers! They are appreciated, and I definitely agree that the musical section for Les Mis needs more Cosette stories!

So here's a rather lengthy chapter. Reviews would be lovely.

**December 29, 1831**

I've struck true to my word. I have been the most amiable daughter possible. Even being so attentive to Papa, I have noticed the absence of Grantaire from the park. I saw him once after our conversation, he jauntily tipped his hat at me. I haven't seen him since. In fact, most of the park frequenters seem to have disappeared. Papa seems to always be glancing over his broad shoulder. I wish I knew the cause of his discomfort...We had a good Christmas this year.

**Jan 1, 1832**

And so another year passes.

**January 4, 1832**

Papa says we have to move. I was quite desolate when he told me. I adore my garden and the little parks we walk about. I'm fond of the neighborhood. But Papa says that just as things changed drastically in the spring of 1830, things are still changing now. I was vastly confused, to say the least. I knew a revolution occurred last spring, and that King Charles was forced to abdicate and leave France. Papa never told me anything else about the government and the unhappy people. That whole spring I was cooped up indoors. It had been unseasonably hot, and unbearably dull...

If things are to change again, then I wish to be far away from the place of danger so that I might be able to feel the sun upon my fa-

Papa just entered my room. He said that we shall move next week, to a house in the Rue Plumet. It's a respectable neighborhood, close to the Luxemburg Gardens.

I wonder if I'll ever see Grantaire again.

**January 11, 1832**

Well we are now settled quite comfortably in our new home. The rooms are lavishly furnished, but it is not garish or silly in any way. The house is larger then the one we left. I have a rather fetching balcony extending from my room. The balcony has a marvelous view of the grounds, which is the most splendid thing about this new location.. The garden- it's dazzling! Full of the spines of lush green bushes and trees, every inch of the rectangular space will be filled with delicious smells and colors once spring comes. There are three statues of quite romantic Roman gods, and a small pond. Papa says there are floating flowers that will bloom over the water in the summer. There is a comfortable bench underneath a winding trellis to provide shade. I suppose this new garden shall become my home, for Papa is feeling rather poorly. I cannot go on walks until he is better. The poor dear has had coughing fits since the seventh of this month.

**January 18,1832**

My first walk in the Luxemburg Gardens! I have never been anywhere more grand! Papa and I strolled to our hearts' content, as the day was unseasonably warm. Warm enough for me to only have to wear one cloak, which was quite nice.

**January 24, 1832**

That tugging feeling in my bosom I experienced late last year- it's gotten worse! My chest aches. I' m torn about telling beloved Papa, though. I have heard women talk of things called, "ladies' problems." As my chest seems to be extending like a woman's, I feel that my troubles are that of the "ladies' problems." I dearly hope they don't get worse. I don't want the curve of a woman if it means going through these awful changes!

**January 29, 1832**

A mass of snow fell to the ground last night. White, pure snow. I woke to an enchanting wonderland this morning. I begged Papa to play in our garden with me, and to my surprise, he agreed. We bundled up in rather large winter costumes, then paraded about our garden. We laid in the snow and created angel silhouettes, used our gloved hands to make the snow into balls, then threw them at each other. It was such fun! Now we are both lounging in the parlor, sipping hot coffee and basking in the heat from the large fireplace. Papa is writing what appears to be a letter. He is sitting in the plushy armchair next to my own. Every now and then, I try to peak at his letter just like he tries to peak at my diary. I suppose it's actually quite comical...I do hope the snow stays till tomorrow, so that I might enjoy it once more.

**January 31, 1832**

The snow did remain the next day, so naturally, I went out to play upon it. I didn't wear quite as many layers of clothing as I should, I suppose. Now I'm laying in bed, watching some children play about it the street outside our gates. I envy them. Every few moments I have to cough or blow my nose. Being ill is rather dreadful...Just nearly avoided sneezing on this page! Disgusting.

**February 4,. 1832**

I've finally overcome that wretched cold. It was my first of the year, which is why it hit me so hard. The snow had finally melted. I fear it will return soon, though. Ever since my illness, I haven't had any desire to see the pure white cover the ground. I just want spring to come. I just want to walk to the park with Papa, and see Grantaire.

**February 12, 1832**

Papa says I need a new wardrobe. I have to agree. I've grown so much, I just haven't quite noticed it all. Well...I did notice my bosom growing, but only because it was so awful! …...It's strange. I looked in the mirror today, and for the first time ever, I saw a woman instead of an ugly girl. Perhaps I won't ever be beautiful, but at least I'm not as homely as I once was.

**February 13, 1832**

We went out for new clothes today. Papa had the sales girls help me with my selections while he waited in the foyer. The girl who helped me was named Alice. She was British! But I never would have guessed, she spoke French so fluently. She later confided that she had run away from her privileged family in England and decided to live a freer life here in Paris. I wonder if she knew of all the political angst that dwells in Paris, in my dear city...Anyways...We decided on four new winter gowns. They are all lovely, each plain and simple but still womanly and elegant. There is lace bordering on every dress! Papa also got me new leather gloves and a bonnet with silk flowers along the bill. I feel as if I'm starting to look my age. I think Papa realizes this, too. I can't say whether he is sad or not that I am finally maturing into a woman.

Papa has always wanted me to stay a little girl. Of course he's never said such a thing aloud, but I can sense it in every glance he shoots my way. I understand how he feels. Life would be so much easier if I always stayed young and naïve.. I know so little of the world already, I still have the mind of the child. Papa tells me nothing of my past, and my future looms ahead, dark and empty. It taunts that I shall always remain alone, lost in innocence with only an aging Papa as company.

**February 15. 1832**

I can't believe I said such mean things! I just reread my last entry. I love Papa, I do! I just...yearn for friends...and a romance of my own...These dratted "ladies' novels" I read are filling my head with silly ideas.

**February 23, 1832**

I want to write a song...but what would it be about?

**February 29, 1832**

Grantaire! Papa took me to the Luxemburg Gardens and I saw him! I was dressed in one of my new gowns, though it was concealed by my heavy winter cloak. I was also wearing my pretty little bonnet. Papa was reading one of his books, his brow wrinkled in concentration. I had been looking around the park, at the dead tree's and barren landscape that winter creates. Then I saw him, strolling with two girls! The brown bag was being passed between the three of them, and they all had rosy red cheeks. When Grantaire passed by Papa and I's bench, he actually had to glance back three times before he recognized me! I guess I have changed over these few months. Once he remembered me, he gave a silly wave and smiled in my direction. I smiled back. The girls he was with never even noticed me. It was good to see a face I recognized in this vast city of Paris...Sometimes I miss Papa and I's old home, but this one is so much prettier and safer. Plus the Luxemburg gardens are heavenly.

**March 13, 1832**

I'm so glad I've found this diary! I had misplaced it some time ago! But, alas, I've got nothing exciting to write about.

**March 14, 1832**

Only yesterday I wrote about the lack of excitement in my life. Today there was a small uprising, the poor people of France were shouting and screaming as some government officials drove by in their polished carriage. The people threw their rotting food at them, and tried to seize the carriage. The poor frightened horses spooked and a protester was crushed beneath the panicking horses' hooves. Oh horror! Papa has told me this cruel tale to enlighten me on the troubles of France. I had told him I was weary of being naïve like a child. Now I wish I had never asked to learn. Knowledge comes at a price, and I can't get the crushed protester out of my mind.

**March 20, 1832**

The tales Papa has told me grow even more vicious in their manner. France and her people need God's mercy.

**March 25, 1832**

An epiphany. A brilliant revelation has been granted to me! Oh, it would seem like nothing to the average person. But...as I dressed today and risked a glance into the looking glass, which I haven't done in some time, I saw that I have grown to be pretty! My hair has always been a ratted halo of dark curls, but I have taken to smoothing them down with rose water lately, and it's helped! They were smooth and glossy against my pale face. I've finally grown into my over-large features, my mouth finally looks in proportion with my face. My violet-colored eyes aren't discomforting any longer, they finally look at home against my dark hair and white skin. I'm lovely!

I care not if this entry makes me appear to be just another silly, shallow girl! For once I feel not like a beastly outcast , I feel like a young woman. Perhaps there is hope for me yet.

Papa has said that I've always been beautiful, but today I actually believed him.

**April 2, 1832**

Blue compliments my skin. It also compliments Papa's. He is my father, I don't care what Bridgette says! That insufferable maid always whispers to the others, and she's told me that Papa isn't who he says he is. Lies! Rubbish! Sometimes...in my darker moments...I feel like she speaks the truth. But then Papa smiles at me, and I know that he is my Papa, and he loves me.

**April 7, 1832**

Papa took me out to a cafe today. It wasn't the usual sort we attended for dinner, but I loved it. Papa took me there to "open my mind to the culture of the youth." Those were his very words, I kid you not!

But there were plenty of youth there, just the same. They sat at tables, drank wine and other spirits, laughed, cursed and cried loudly. It was exhilarating, if not exhausting, to be around such noise and fuss. Apparently the cafe was a meeting place for rebellious youth who aspired for a better France. They called themselves "Friends of the ABC," as the name of the establishment is ABC Cafe. I can't comprehend the intended pun of the name, though, it's beyond my meager understanding.

The "Friends" were having a small gathering while we were there. Not a meeting, they all laughed, just a social gathering for once. I think they must be a very lively bunch, if they don't have social gatherings much. All of the "Friends" were male, students at the nearby college and very...well...handsome. Oh, now I'm blushing! They were all lovely to look upon. There. That's a respectful way to be.

The leader of the group was called Enjolras. He was dark-haired and impossibly charismatic. He was also very serious, always trying to bring the subject of revolution and barricades up for discussion. I wished I knew what their plans for change were. Perhaps I could help...

Grantaire was there! He was sitting right next to Enjolras, on his left. The chair to Enjolras' right was empty. Of course, Grantaire had drinks in his hands and he laughed constantly. He caught my eyes once, and we shared a smile! The rest of the young men blended together for me, they were all full of laughter and that sparkling quality that was a mixture of hope and weariness. There was a young girl who occasionally popped by the Friends. She was quite the street urchin, her dress was a mess of rags and tatters and her mousy brown hair was thick and ratted. There were dirt smudges upon her face, though her features were quite amiable beneath the filth. She had an eye-catchy quality about her; a lovely light in her dark eyes as she hopefully scanned the rows of men at the table. Her eyes always landed on the empty seat next to Enjolras, and her grin would fade. Even now I wonder who she had been so desperately looking for.

**April 10, 1832**

Another walk in the Luxemburg Gardens. Spring is most definitely in the air.

**April 11, 1832**

Saw that girl again. The street urchin. She was standing near the gates of the Luxemburg Gardens, her eyes hopeful. Who is she looking for?

**April 13, 1832**

A few lines have come to me! Perhaps I can finally write my own song. I sat down at my piano this morning and let my fingers have a random dance over the ivory keys. A few notes struck out and rang in my head with a clear brilliancy, and these words immediately came into my head - _"In my life, there are so many questions and answers that somehow seem wrong. In my life, there are times when I catch in the silence the sigh of a faraway song..."_

They went in perfect harmony with the notes I had played, and I soon figured out how to sing them in accordance. That was the end of my musical brilliance for today. The rest of the lyrics have left my head like a quick summer breeze, and I'm left with a scratch of paper where I had hastily written the first words and notes down.

It is a start!

**April 16, 1832**

Flowers have begun to bloom! Joyous day indeed.

**April 18, 1832**

It was only the smallest glance...but I feel forever changed..Papa and I went to the ABC cafe again, and the Friends of the ABC were there for a legitimate meeting of politics. We saw that the cafe was quite empty except for the Friends, and we felt as if we were intruding. Quietly, we agreed to take our leave and let them converse in peace. As we left, I turned back once. The right chair next to the charismatic Enjolras was filled! Papa pulled me out the door, and my last glimpse was filled with the eyes of a young man. They were lively eyes, filled with emotion. Clear and pristine as a cloudless blue sky. Compelling, mysterious, lovely.

Just from that single glimpse of his eyes, I know who that ruffian girl was looking for. It was that boy. She had been looking for _him. _I desperately wish to see him again, just to know what the rest of his face looks like, or perhaps to know what his voice sounds like. Who he is?


	3. That Boy

**April 19, 1832**

Walked in the Luxemburg with Papa. We've acquired our own bench. It's always empty for us to sit at, which we do. We sometimes talk, but most often not. I asked Papa to go to the Cafe Musain. He politely refused. I wonder why? …...My thoughts are too scattered to collect and write upon these snowy pages...Who was that boy?

**April 23, 1832**

That boy...his eyes...

**April 30, 1832**

Nothing to do. Nothing to say.

**May 13, 1832**

Papa agreed to take me back to the Cafe Musain. The Friends of the ABC weren't there! I was devastated. Perhaps I'll never see him again. I haven't seen Grantaire either. Alas, am I to be a chaste nun for eternity? ...Papa has been strangely protective this past month. Actually, I suppose it began in April...Right around the time I ordered a new wardrobe and discovered my beauty. Perhaps he discovered it as well? I wonder why it should bother him. Isn't a lovely face better then a homely face? He'd never admit to me being ugly when I used to be. Dear Papa...

I just got back from a romp in my garden. Spring has burst like the music of angels, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of life! Papa has left the garden to be untended, so the trees and bushes grow with wild abandon. Branches droop down over the walkways, heavy with fragrant blooms. The pond is filled with flowers that serenely float over the murky water. Sometimes I sit along the small shore and stretch my fingers out to feel the rough petals that the flowers have discarded to float aimlessly over the water. I love to toss my slippers into my hands and run barefoot along the scattered stones in the long, dry grass. If I were younger, I'd have pretended to be a princess. Now I content myself to drift among my lush garden and let my thoughts dreamily take control. I've even climbed a tree! It had terribly smooth bark and strangely...I couldn't resist the urge to reach the top. I was wearing an old gown, it barely fit. I felt no guilt in tearing it as I climbed. Thankfully, Papa nor our two servants ever found out about my escapade. It felt intensely adventurous to reach the top and push through the leafy branches to see the ground of the garden.

I cannot wait until summer, when my garden will become a jungle rather then a paradise.

**May 16, 1832**

How ridiculous I feel. Friends of the ABC = Friends of the Lower Classes. One merely has to say it aloud to understand the pun. I'm a fool.

**May 19, 1832**

In these past days, I've climbed more trees! I've gotten quite good at it. Toussaint, our maid, caught me coming down from a tree this afternoon, but I made her promise not to tell. Surely not telling Papa isn't a sin like lying to Papa would be.

**May 22, 1832**

I played a selection of songs on my piano for Papa today. They were mostly scores written by the great composers, but I did include one simple piece I had written. I also sang a few songs for him. My favorite was an aria by Mozart. It had taken me weeks to properly learn it. Papa was very pleased with my performance. He clapped after each song, the dear. He told me that I was the greatest musician he's ever heard. I responded that he hadn't heard too many musicians in his life. We laughed heartily over a few more jests then took another stroll through the gardens. Papa and I have such fun together.

**May 29, 1832**

Papa took me out today. He's gone on charity missions before, but has always forbade me to accompany him. He said it wasn't a pleasant thing to see. Today, when he announced his plans, I asked to go with him again. Surprisingly, he agreed. We went to a ghetto and passed out bread and alms. Papa was correct, the sight of such despair was awful. So many starving children and weary, nearly-dead adults! I wept while I handed food to the poor souls. The stench in the air was strong and noxious, the tenements that the poor lived in looked as if they could fall over at any moment and the people were dressed in nothing more then rags. It's summer now, so they weren't cold, but what most they do in the freezing winter? The aged sadness in all of their eyes, even those of infants, was staggering. Papa has given me a wonderful life. I wish I could give the same life to all of those suffering people.

When we returned to our lovely home, I insisted that Papa would have me accompany him the next time he went to share his wealth. He stroked my cheek thoughtfully for a few moments, then he agreed.

I thought I had seen poverty before this day, I mean, I live in Paris. Papa says that all big cities are filled with the poor. Now I know that I haven't seen anything. There is true misery in this city I call my home.

**June 1, 1832**

I climbed another tree today. The heat of the summer soon overcame me, and I returned to the house sometime in the afternoon. Then I set to work on sewing winter clothing. The poor won't have the luxury of shopping for warm clothing once the seasons change.

Papa just came in. He said we'd go on another mission on the fourth of this month. The thought saddens me but also makes me happy. What a paradox. I want to help those in need, but it really draws the life out of me. Alas, I'm selfish. I will help those that need it.

**June 2, 1832**

It's late, very late. I shake as I write this – I've just had a nightmare, it's been the same horrid dream I've had since I was a young girl. I get whipped, hit, kicked and thrown about by two monstrous red-faced giants, and cast into a vast darkness. Then I'm alone, but I hear grating voices, they shout and scream obscenities at me. They sometimes call me "the Lark." I don't understand such dreams, but I wake up with tears upon my face, and I feel so cold. I don't tell Papa about my nightmares, it would only alarm him. They scare me.

**June 3, 1832 **

Toussaint made the most delicious lunch today! Papa and I ate in the garden and enjoyed the feeling of the sun against our skin. I had to wear a bonnet of course, to prevent freckling. I don't really see the necessity of a bonnet to shield my face when my arms where exposed to the sun's kisses. I suppose I can't have my face spotted, but my arms are allowed to be? Oh well. Such questions I shall never receive answers to.

**June 4, 1832**

I'm not the same girl I was. I am a new Cosette from now on! Where do I begin to explain such a change? I've found the other half of my soul. How can I even begin to explain such a transformation? I suppose I can try to start from the beginning.

Papa and I had gathered money into purses for our charity mission. I wore a sturdy gown of black cotton and white lace with my curls stuffed up into a bonnet. Papa also wore plain clothes. He hired out a carriage and had us driven to one of the many slums. We arrived about a block away, in a decent part of the neighborhood. The driver was a good man, but he refused to steer his nice carriage through the muck. Papa gave me a final warning about the dangers of Parisian slums, then we left the carriage and headed straight into the ghetto.

I'll confess – I was alarmed. It was overcast, and the alleys were filled with shadows. The air smelled quite bad and in the distance I could see scantily clad women mulling around the streets. Their exposed bosoms made me blush rather fiercely. Papa bravely held my hand while we walked. When we walked past people, we passed out the coins. They seemed happy to receive the gift, which made me feel very selfish for fearing them. Papa and I did this for hours, until I was quite exhausted from walking. We had reached a rather busy corner when Papa told me I could take a break. He left me near a tall building while he went to the other side and continued to give. Papa was tireless! There weren't as many prostitutes on the corner, in fact I saw a large group of men. Their loud, course voices and filthy clothing intimidated me. Also a few of them tried to catch my eye, but their expressions were not kind or gentle. I contemplated going over to them, to give them money, but decided against it. They seemed untrustworthy.

Papa had said to stay close to the wall and it was most definitely in my best interest to obey him. I scurried next to a worn wagon next to the wall. I was out of those foul mens' view, though I could still stealthily hear them.. Then I heard two new voices, that of a girl's and a young man's. The girl had a low, raspy voice. She didn't pronounce words properly and had rather poor diction, so I came to the conclusion that she was poor. She sounded angry. The young man, however, had a lovely voice! It was rich and clear, though he sounded extremely alarmed. Then I heard a loud call from those brutish men. What if they harmed the girl? Why did that young man sound so agitated?

I couldn't help myself, I nearly ran out from behind the wagon. I had to try and help those two people! Suddenly, I crashed into a warm chest. I had been running so fast that my sense of balance was lost when I hit the other person. But...I wasn't going to tumble to the ground. A set of strong arms had grasped my own and steadied me. When I realized I wasn't going to fall, I finally looked up.

It was him! Those blue eyes were the same of that boy in the cafe. Some eyes, well most eyes in fact, are a medley of colors. His were just a pure blue, the exact color of the sky when there aren't any clouds. I tore my eyes away from his, and slowly drew my gaze over the rest of his face. He had exceptionally pale skin, and it looked marvelously smooth and clear. His cheekbones were high and dainty, and his nose was very straight. He had full lips that looked plump, yet firm. He had thick, curly hair that was a dark shade of brown. He was tall, thin, and possessed a hopelessly elegant posture. What a beautiful boy! He reminded me of those flawless Greek heroes Papa sometimes told me stories about. As I continued to stare upon him, I noticed his pristine cheeks were flushed and his lips were parted, as if in shock. What expression did my face hold? I couldn't help but feel awe for him. He was so lovely, and yet, it was more then that. His eyes held such raw passion in them. I was immediately reminded of that blond man in the Cafe Mussain, that student with bold, revolutionary ideals. The boy in front of me had the same light in his eyes. It was captivating. I knew it was impossible, and yet I felt as if he knew and understood everything about me.

How much time had passed? Time seemed like such a ludicrous idea. Everything seemed to pause while the boy and I stared at each other. It could have been an eternity, or more realistically, a few moments. As if coming out of a dream, the boy murmured, "I did not see you there..." I continued to gape at him, like a lost fool. He had the most pleasing voice I had ever heard. With the blush on his face darkening, he continued, "Forgive me?" I finally gained control of my features, and offered a small smile in return. It was all I could manage. The boy began to smile back.

"Cosette?" I suddenly heard Papa's anxious sounding voice while the awful group of hooligan men suddenly began to shout at each other. The loud noises awakened both the boy and I from our reverie, and we quickly parted ways...


End file.
